


Impossible Things

by owlways_and_forever



Category: NCIS
Genre: Foreign Language, Not a relationship but there's pining, Overseas Mission, Pining, lots of pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:54:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26168215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlways_and_forever/pseuds/owlways_and_forever
Summary: On an op in Morocco, Ziva learns something new about Tony.
Relationships: Ziva David/Anthony DiNozzo
Kudos: 23





	Impossible Things

**Author's Note:**

> August Auction | Day 23, Auction 1 | [dialogue] “That’s not even a proper word. You’re just saying things.”  
> IPC #949 | [title] Impossible Things  
> 365 #82 | Eavesdrop
> 
> Summer Seasonal:  
> Romance Awareness Month | TonyZiva  
> Friendship Week | Tony&Ziva
> 
> Writing Club:  
> Character Appreciation | 16. [emotion] Envy  
> Amber’s Attic | 21. [emotion] Jealousy  
> Elizabeth’s Empire | 15. [trope] Unrequited love  
> EnTitled | 19. The One Where Old Yeller Dies | Write about finding out the truth about something

Ziva watched Tony talk to the street vendor with curiosity. He ought to be struggling with this more, but he seemed to be getting on just fine, and that puzzled her. Not only that, but it irritated her. She was usually the one to employ foreign languages skills, since Tony had none, but it figured that their lead was ultra conservative and wouldn’t talk to her. 

Tony turned around with a big grin, replacing his sunglasses as he sauntered over to Ziva with a smug grin on his face. She sighed in annoyance. She hated it when Tony was smug. He became completely insufferable.

“What did you learn?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not a whole lot, Mahmoud over there says that our lance corporal was a regular at his cafe, stopped by nearly every day before visiting an illegal gambling ring a little ways away,” Tony explained.

“Did Mahmoud tell you where we might find this gambling ring?” Ziva pressed, her tone as pushy as ever.

“He pointed off that way -” Tony indicated a southerly direction “- and said to look for Idir’s pottery shop.”

“You didn’t ask for more specific directions?” she hissed, aggravated by her partner’s sheer conceit.

“How hard can it be?”

“Tony, the Marrakech souk is  _ notoriously  _ difficult to navigate!” she snarled, throwing her hands into the air and letting them fall with a loud slap against her thighs. “It’s like a jigsaw in here!”

“A labyrinth, you mean,” Tony corrected, a smile playing at the corner of his lips at her mistake. “You’re a capable navigator though, I’m sure you can find it.”

Ziva rolled her eyes and set off in the direction Mahmoud had indicated, keeping a close eye on their surroundings.

“How did you even get this information?” Ziva asked as they walked, annoyed by his success.

“I asked him, Ziva,” Tony replied, brushing off her question.

“But you do not speak Arabic!” she protested, determined to figure out her puzzle. It was a well known fact that Tony was abysmal with languages, and it was unlikely that someone as traditional as their contact would know more than a few words in English.

“Are you sure about that?” he answered with an amused tone that made her certain she was about to regret pressing the issue. “Akbab al-sayeen khhhhhhidz,” he made up, elongating the sound of the Kha.

“That’s not even a proper word,” Ziva scoffed, trying not to rise to the bait. “You’re just saying things.”

Tony shrugged and kept walking, entirely unfazed. She watched him with narrowed eyes for a moment before she followed, determined both to find this illicit gambling ring  _ and  _ figure out what Tony was hiding from her.

It took them the better part of an hour to locate the right pottery shop, the entire souk a blur of bright colours and beautiful, elaborate patterns. If Ziva weren’t in the middle of an assignment, she would be tempted to admire the craftsmanship, but as it was, she simply shook those musings off to focus on the task at hand.

“Ziva, I think I should approach him alone at first,” Tony said as they watched a man who was most certainly Idir from several meters away. “He’ll be more suspicious of a rich Middle Eastern woman than a rich foreigner looking to take advantage of locals.”

For the most part, Ziva agreed with Tony’s assessment, so she nodded. Plus, if Tony was allowed in, he could bring Ziva along as… entertainment. It would be much harder for her to convince them to let another man in.

He sauntered up to the stall and began looking at the collections of hand painted bowls and miniature tagines, appearing deeply focused while he waited for the other customers to leave. Ziva used the time to maneuver closer to the stall, tugging her scarf over her hair and shading her face with it. She told herself that it was important for her to be able to eavesdrop on their conversation for the purposes of the op, but mostly she just wanted to know how Tony did it.

“Ehlan!” Tony greeted when Idir was free, opting for a less formal greeting. “Tatakalum al-faransia?”

“Bien sur,” Idir replied, happily obliging his new customer. “Comment je peux vous aider? Vous cherchez quelque chose de spécifique?”

“Oui, mon ami, Adam Zaman, il m’a dit que vous avez les meilleurs tajines au Maroc,” Tony said smoothly, and Ziva felt her jaw drop open. What on  _ earth  _ was going on here?

“Ah, c’est tres gentil,” Idir brushed off, feigning humility, but Ziva could tell from his squirrely tone that he had recognized the name.

“Alors,” Tony continued, dropping his voice down lower, “il m’a dit aussi que vous mettez les plus jolis tajines dans la salle du fond.”

“Ahh, oui, mais il faut retourner ce soir pour les voir,” he replied, clearly recognizing some kind of code. “Je ne peux pas laisser mon magasin seul. Retournez a dix heures du soir.”

“D’accord, merci beaucoup,” Tony answered, and a minute later he was leaving the store, nearly colliding with Ziva.

He immediately registered that she was standing close enough to hear the entire exchange, and she could see a flush of embarrassment darken his cheeks, spreading to his ears and down his neck.

“Since  _ when _ do you speak French, Tony?” she hissed, still completely dumbfounded by what she had just witnessed.

“I don’t really,” he shrugged, uncharacteristically modest.

“Don’t be absurd, your skills are very good,” Ziva said, thinking that maybe some praise would loosen his tongue. “Really, when did you learn that? And why have you been hiding it from me?”

“Ziva, I was a rich white boy who went to an elite boarding school,” he sighed, looking entirely uncomfortable. “What the hell do you think they taught us there? And…”

Tony looked away, letting something drift away into the air. After a moment’s consideration, Ziva knew what it was. Jeanne. One of the many ghosts between them and one of only two that they never talked about, not even in jest.

“You spoke French with her?” Ziva asked, surprised and unable to refrain from finding out more. Somehow it stung, like most things with Jeanne, that Tony had chosen to share that with her and never with Ziva. All this time and he had never mentioned it.

“Not really, but we watched foreign films every now and then,” Tony replied, looking anywhere but at Ziva. “She liked those.”

Another pang. 

“But why hide it?” she pressed, still confused by that detail.

“Couldn’t have you swooning over my language skills,” he said with his usual bravado, but Ziva felt something lurking underneath. Insecurity, maybe.

For the moment, she decided to let the issue rest, but she made a mental note to reinvestigate at a later date. There was something particularly alluring about Tony speaking French, and it made her hope that she would hear it again. But for the moment, Ziva shook off the fantasies that had begun to form in her mind, intent on focusing on their case.


End file.
